


Reverberations

by Antigone_Rex



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: Action, Angst, F/M, Post-Canon, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-21
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-04-25 19:51:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14385924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antigone_Rex/pseuds/Antigone_Rex
Summary: Post-Brotherhood Royai. In the wake of the Promised Day, Mustang and Hawkeye struggle to find normalcy. With a powerful new enemy and a growing Ishvalan Resistance looming at every turn, will they learn to understand one another before it is too late?  [Chapters 1-21 currently posted on my FFN account; slowly posting chapters here as I reformat and revise them]





	1. Prologue: Hush

**Epilogue: Hush (\ hŭsh \\)**

**1: noun - a silence or stillness, especially after noise**

**2: verb - to calm or soothe**

-o-o-o-

A quiet mantle surrounded Central City. Though the streets remained in ruins, little of the cacophony remained from the battle that took place mere hours before. The citizens huddled together in the safety and comfort of their homes, grateful for the simple grace of life. And who could blame them? This day they were unexpectedly confronted with the tenuous binding between body and soul.

The silence inhabited the streets, sinuously flowing through hollow buildings destroyed alchemy and munitions alike. It soaked into the paving stones, muffling the sounds of boots as soldiers made their rounds. The inky silence even pervaded Central Headquarters, pooling on the empty throne once occupied by a homunculus-turned-Fuhrer.

The silence slowly flowed into the military hospital, where soldiers lay softly moaning in their beds. The quiet inhabited the soft scrape of nurses shoes as they tended to the dying. It crept into a room occupied by two war-worn soldiers, where it took up residence, coiling like a serpent, unseen by unseeing eyes.

Roy Mustang sat in a hospital bed, his bandaged hands clasped around his knees. His eyes were opened far too wide, as though trying to drink the moonlight that filtered through the nearby window. For perhaps the hundredth time that day, he reached up to touch his eyelids to reassure himself they were indeed open. They were. His head bowed, and his shoulders shook with silent laughter.

Though his sight was gone, his nightmare earlier that night was a chilling testament that he could still see in his dreams. His smile slackened as he recalled the horrible images that woke him from sleep: Blood-red eyes twisted in pain. A woman's hand, weakly holding back lifeblood as it spilled between her fingers. Flames consuming all.

He let out a low, wheezing laugh. How fitting. His only remaining sight would be a nightly torture. This punishment was far less than he deserved for all that he'd done. He closed his eyes, pressing his forehead into his knees. He was past exhaustion, but this silent blanket of darkness was far preferable to the thought of returning to dreams which promised no rest.

He was started out of his reverie by the stiff rustle of hospital-starched sheets nearby. Only hours after he was struck blind, and he was amazed at how quickly his other senses swelled to fill the void of his lost vision. It felt like he had entered a foreign world; like he was experiencing scents, sensations, and sounds for the first time.

Another sound, this time the soft scrape of a bare foot on tile floor – he was certain of it. He cursed inwardly for laughing aloud earlier. He had woken his companion. As silently as he could, he slowly reclined back on to the hard pillow, closing his eyes in what he hoped looked like convincing slumber. More sounds of scraping came from the bed nearby as his companion fumbled with her slippers in the darkness. He heard her hand smack clumsily against the metal frame of the bed as she attempted to regain her balance. He fought the urge to get up to help her, reminding himself that he was supposed to be asleep. Regardless, he could not help but smile when she uttered a very unladylike curse under her breath.

Another rustle of fabric sounded to his left, followed by the soft hiss of a tightening sash knot. Then a moment of silence, followed by a muted sigh. He heard the soft pat of footsteps as his companion rounded the partition curtain that separated the two beds. His heart pounded against his rib cage as he heard her approach. Rallying himself, he concentrated on his breathing, doing his best to sound like he was sleeping peacefully. The footsteps stopped in a space near the head of the bed. She was there. If he but opened his eyes he would be greeted with a view of Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye's midsection.

 _No you won't._ He reminded himself bitterly. _You will be greeted with darkness. Unending, depthless, fathomless darkness._

He felt a soft breeze graze his cheek, accompanied by the whisking sound of cloth against cloth. For a moment, there was thick silence. He imagined the feeling of warmth radiating near his scalp. Then, he felt her fingers softly comb through his unruly hair.

"You aren't fooling anyone, sir." Her melodic voice cut through the silence like a song.

Mustang started, his eyes opening slowly. His lips curled into a smirk. "You should be asleep, Lieutenant." He imagined the look of exasperation on her face and his smirk widened. He tried not to think about the pleasant feelings that stirred each time her fingers met his scalp. "You shouldn't even be out of bed."

"I…" she hesitated. Her hand faltered, resting lightly on his forehead. "I…can't sleep either."

Roy reached up, blindly grasping for her wrist in the darkness. He clasped it securely; it felt warm and soft and _solid_ beneath his fingers. He sat up, gently pulling her alongside the bed, not daring to release his grip. It was not that he was afraid she would run. More so that he needed her to remain. In so many ways, this woman was his anchor; she was stalwart and steadfast when memories threatened to swallow him whole.

It was a long time before he spoke again. Riza waited patiently, utterly still.

"I… can't believe we did it." His voice was throaty, barely under control. His fingers tightened on her wrist. "We… survived." The word brought unbidden thoughts of horror and pain.

Riza shifted as flashes of her colonel played across her thoughts. She recalled his eyes most of all: Their wrath as he stared at her down the barrel of her gun, their anguish as she bled to death on the floor, and their emptiness after they had lost their sight forever. Tears pricked at the corner of her own eyes as she slowly raised her free hand to the nape of his neck. Her fingers twined into his hair.

With a shuddering breath he did not realize he was holding, Roy leaned his head forward, pressing his face into her middle. She smelled of solvent and mineral oil and gunpowder - a smell that was uniquely her. He released her wrist, wrapping both arms around the small of her back. She buried her hands in his hair, making small, soothing circles on his scalp.

A sad smile slowly formed on her lips. "Yes. We did."

The silence that coiled through the room only moments before was dispelled by the sound of soft, shuddering sobs. Though the rest of the city was blanketed in a mantle of quiet, here - in this space - unspoken words forged from unspoken love cast the silence away.


	2. Purl

**Purl ( _noun \ pər-əl \\)_**

**1. _noun_  - the sound made by rippling water**

**2. _noun_  - ** **a gentle murmur or movement**

-o-o-o-

Riza woke to the sounds of chirping birds outside her hospital window. Sunlight seeped through her closed eyelids. She groaned, willing it to be night for just a bit longer. Her sleep had not been restful.

She inhaled deeply through her nose, slowly stretching her legs under the starched hospital sheets. It seemed impossible, but only one day had passed since the eclipse and near-end of the world. Her stiff body was only a small testament to the grueling events she endured over the last twenty-four hours. She experimentally arched her back, quickly discovering aches in muscles she did not even know she had. Her breath expelled in a muffled groan.

She longed to stretch her neck. The doctors refused to give her a pillow yesterday, worried that any "cervical tension," as they called it, would reopen her unstable wound. Instead, the nurse constructed a makeshift brace using a wad of rolled-up pillowcases to support Riza's neck. Though effective, it was far from comfortable.

Sounds of footsteps and quiet voices filtered through the nearby door.  _Morning rounds_ , she thought to herself.  _What time is it?_  She unthinkingly turned her head to the clock mounted on the wall just to her right, and gasped as a sharp pain like the blade of a knife shot through her neck. She had forgotten about the damn wound. She shut her eyes tightly and sucked in a breath through her teeth to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape.

Eventually the throbbing pain ebbed away. She slowly opened her eyes, fingers softly probing the bandage on her neck to ensure that her wound wasn't bleeding. With a sigh of relief, she finally looked at the clock.

_Damn._  It was just past six in the morning. She only slept two hours last night.

_Last night_ , she mused. Memories of a dark room swathed in silence drifted through her mind. In the aftermath of the raging battle, the thick quiet paradoxically roared in her ears. It pressed down on her, stealing her breath. Violent images flashed behind her eyelids each time they closed, barring her from any attempt at sleep. She could not even indulge in the luxury of tossing and turning for fear of disturbing her wound.

Hours later, the quiet was broken by soft moans from the bed to her left. She hated it when he had nightmares. Though he never admitted it to her, she knew that they intermittently plagued him since Ishval. They were usually brief and self-limited, but recent events seemed to make them particularly vivid. His moans quickly shifted to guttural cries. Her heart tore when he choked out her name to the unforgiving dark, and she shuddered as she recalled the memory that likely tumbled through his sleeping mind.

Riza knew something of nightmares. Roy was not the only one who relived the countless atrocities of Ishval in his dreams. She was about to get up and rouse him when she heard him stir and wake.

She waited in the quiet darkness, listening for his breathing to slow to the calm cadence of sleep. Instead, she heard him sit up. It wasn't long before she heard the rueful laugh that drew her from her own bed.

She blushed as she recalled how he clung to her, nuzzling his face into her stomach. She could still remember the feel of his hair through her fingers and the wet, hot tears that soaked through her hospital gown. She couldn't help but weep with him. They had been through hell together and thankfully –  _impossibly_  – they both survived. Certainly not unscathed, but alive nonetheless. Holding him, her chest had filled with a warm feeling that slowly spread up the back of her neck and into her belly. At the time, she felt she might burst as the emotion filled, enveloped, and ultimately consumed her.

Now lying in the morning light, she covered her eyes in embarrassment. She crossed a line last night - a line that she faithfully toed since she pledged to follow him to the very end. Would there be ramifications? Awkwardness? Though she knew her colonel well, there were many things he did and said that she did not fully understand. Hopefully there would be no mention of the event today. It had been a moment of weakness on both their parts.

Riza ardently avoided looking at the curtain that separated her bed from that of her commanding officer.

Her fretful thoughts were interrupted when she heard the soft creak of door hinges. Glancing over, she saw a young woman in a nurse's uniform tread softly into the room. Her arms were filled with a pile of folded cloth, topped with a large washbasin. Curls of steam rose from the top.

"You're up," the nurse said, surprised. Riza recognized her immediately: the young woman had taken care of Havoc and Mustang after their encounter with Lust. Hawkeye hand-picked her for her ability to stay tight-lipped when it came to sensitive information.

"Beth." Riza greeted her warmly. "Good morning."

Beth smiled cheerily as she set her burden on a nearby table. "How are you feeling? Here, let me help you up." She carefully supported Riza's neck and back to prop her into a sitting position. Smiling secretively, she slipped out the door only to return a moment later with a pillow in hand.

"Better?" Beth asked as she gently plumped the pillow behind Riza's aching back.

"Much. Thank you." Riza leaned back comfortably. "Ready to take on the world."

Beth gave her an appraising look. "Don't get ahead of yourself. You just got here last night." She handed Riza a small cup of water and a few pain pills. "We have to make sure the world's ready to see you. First thing's first – we need to get rid of some of that blood."

"Blood?" Riza's hand flew quickly to the bandage that encircled her neck. It was still dry.

"Ah, sorry to startle you!" Beth chuckled as she transferred the washbasin to Riza's bed. She patted Riza's hand comfortingly. "I was talking about all that dried blood left from your wound last night. The doctors did a great job bandaging you up, but they're terrible about cleaning up after themselves." She ran her finger along Riza's chin; dried bits of blood flaked off at her touch. "We nurses were so busy with the other wounded last night that we didn't have a chance to take care of things like this." Beth made tut-tut sounds as she fingered a few of Riza's golden locks. "Look. It's in your hair."

Riza breathed a sigh of relief, then eyed the washbasin skeptically. "I'd much prefer a shower."

"Your bandages need to stay dry. Besides," Beth's voice took on a chastising air, "you know you're on strict bed rest, Lieutenant," She plunged a washcloth into the warm soapy water.

Riza cringed inwardly as she recalled her utter disregard of her doctor's order last night. She tried her best to look innocent.

"Now. Let's do this before all those handsome soldiers you work with show up." Beth began rolling up her sleeves. "I'm going to undo the back of your gown, okay?"

Riza stiffened. "The colonel…"

Beth covered her mouth, giggling. "Oops. Forgot about him." A blush crept over the collar of her white uniform. She winked at Riza, softly creeping around the bed to peer at the man behind the curtain.

Riza suppressed a frown. She suspected her nurse – like so many others before her – had developed something of a crush on the colonel during his last hospital stay. Beth was not the first, nor would she be the last. Riza would have to be sure Beth was out of the room when the rest of the team arrived. For whatever reason, Mustang's men seemed to think a flirting woman was rich fodder for teasing one first-lieutenant Riza Hawkeye. Mustang didn't help matters, with all those charming glances and secretive smiles. It was infuriating.

"He's sound asleep." Beth reassured, her tone only slightly more hushed.

Hawkeye pursed her lips, hesitating.

"Oh, don't give me that look, Lieutenant. Even if there wasn't a curtain, he wouldn't see a thing."

Riza flinched. The reminder of Colonel's blindness reopened a still-fresh wound she would rather leave untouched.

Beth gasped. "Oh, Lieutenant. I… I'm so sorry. I didn't mean…" She bowed her head like a child. "Please forgive me."

Riza smiled weakly. "It's okay, Beth." She indulged in a glance at the curtain beside her. "Honestly, Colonel Mustang would find the situation ironically funny."

Beth smiled back, relieved. She plunged her hand back into the washbasin to retrieve the sopping washcloth. The water made soft lapping sounds against the side of the container.

-o-o-o-

The sound of falling water always filled Mustang with unease. Rain had been his undoing more times than he cared to admit. It was a blatant – and at times embarrassing – weakness of his fire-based alchemy. Waking to the sound of dripping water and complete darkness made the experience doubly unpleasant. For a moment, he forgot where he was or how he had gotten there. Panic rose to the back of this throat as his naked fingers groped desperately for his gloves.

Reason interceded. He was in the hospital. He could feel the hard bed and stiff sheets under his hands. The scent of antiseptic permeated the air.

And he remained blind. He suspected it might take some time to get used to waking up to this unending night.

Another splash sounded to his left, followed by the sound of tinkling water. "Okay, face and hair done," a woman's voice murmured. "Now let's get your back."

"My… back?" Mustang recognized Hawkeye's voice immediately.

"Yes." The other woman's voice was dry with amusement. "Your back, Lieutenant. Then we can get you into a clean gown."

With a jolt, Roy Mustang realized he was witness to an incredible event. Just beyond a thin curtain, his lieutenant was receiving a sponge bath… from another woman. How wonderful. Roy silently cursed his unseeing eyes. How terrible.

His imagination happily interceded to fill the void.

He wished Havoc were there. He, of all Mustang's staff, would truly appreciate this moment. The colonel imagined the fair-haired soldier's smirking face – the suggestive comments and snickers. Mustang frowned, then immediately retracted his wish. It was better this way.

Apparently, the bather was having some difficulty with her bathee. "Come on, Lieutenant. We're both women here. You'll feel so much better when this is done. It will just take a second…"

"Um…" Riza stalled. Roy understood her reluctance. Hawkeye's back was a sensitive topic – even between the two of them. In the weeks when he first studied her array, she never truly became comfortable revealing her marked skin to him, not once meeting his eyes as she undid her blouse to show him her father's work.

As such, he was surprised to hear a resigned sigh behind the curtain. "Fine." Soon after, he heard the soft sound of cloth on cloth.

There was a long silence.

"What…?" The nurse's voice whispered, horrified.

Mustang would never forget the first time he beheld the masterwork inscribed on Hawkeye's back. At first, he was astonished when the young woman, back facing him, hesitantly removed her top. His shock was quickly replaced with awe. Alchemically, the array was perfect. The product of years of research, its serpentine lines spelled the untold secrets of flame. Its canvas only enhanced its beauty: The tattoo swirled into the soft curve of Riza's spine. It flowed and eddied over her shoulder blades. It dipped precariously into the dimples at the base of her back. It was exquisite.

And he ruined it – as he had so many other things. He imagined the nurse taking in the burns that marred the perfect array. He imagined how those burned looked on a woman so close to the Flame Alchemist.

Hawkeye's voice was clear and calm. "Please do not mention this. To anyone."

"Of… of course." After a moment, water splashed again.

It seemed the nurse was anxious to finish, as the remainder of the bath did not take long. Soon, Mustang heard the rustle of fabric and murmured instructions as she helped Hawkeye into a fresh gown.

"Thank you." Hawkeye's voice was slightly clipped. "I  _do_  feel better."

"Of- of course." The nurse stuttered, still unnerved. "I'll go get some breakfast for the two of you."

"That would be most welcome."

The nurse scurried out of the room; the door hinges creaked slightly as she closed it behind her.

"Good morning, Colonel." Hawkeye's voice was laden with sarcasm.

He jumped, flailing blindly. In his panic, he managed to topple a glass resting on his beside table. The water fell to the floor with an alarming splash. "How do you  _do_  that?"

"You should really learn to control your breathing, sir." She said simply. Despite the deadly calm of her voice, he could tell she was smiling. She paused, considering. "Or should I say… panting?"

To his credit, Mustang recovered quickly. His mouth twisted into a smirk. He was a master at this game, and she was treading on dangerous ground. "Lieutenant," he teased. "I'm shocked. How could you even  _think_  such a thing of me?"

"Years of observation, sir."

Mustang emitted a single barking laugh. It felt incredible to joke after the intensity of the last few days. They were safe. He felt the warmth of sunlight as it streamed from the window. Birds chirped cheerfully outside, oblivious to the horrors that occurred a day prior.

The two soldiers enjoyed a moment of companionable silence.

"In all seriousness, Lieutenant…" Mustang began. His hands twisted unconsciously into his sheets. "How are you feeling?"

"Well enough, sir. A little bruised, but I expect I'll recover soon enough."

He was silent for a beat. "Hm."

Clearly Hawkeye was not ready to discuss the intimate moment that took place last night. He had to admit he was somewhat relieved; he had broken down completely at her touch, weeping like a child. It now seemed wrong to violate the sunny, peaceful morning with such intimate, secret things. Knowing Hawkeye as he did, Roy suspected she would be completely content to never mention the occasion again.

Pursing his lips, he resolved that he would not let that happen. There were too many things left unsaid between the two of them. Too many feelings ignored as they plotted to forge a better Amestris. The put their lives aside in the pursuit of their dreams, but something shifted in the wake of the Promised Day. Roy had never imagined himself feeling as vulnerable as he did when he saw her dying in the tunnels beneath Central. He realized now that life was previous and fleeting. Things could not be the same.

The door creaked again. He heard the clattering sound of dishware perched precariously on a tray. The welcome scent of coffee perfumed the air. "Here we are." Suddenly, Mustang recognized the nurse's voice.

"Beth?" Mustang called. A charming smile spread on his face.

"Co- colonel!" Beth said breathily as she drew back the curtain that divided the two beds. He could practically feel the heat of her blush as it spread across her cheeks. His ears caught a low growl from Hawkeye's direction, and his grin took on a sheepish air.

He once tried to explain his womanizing to Hawkeye. Why wouldn't a man raised in a brothel have a special affinity for the gentler sex? He couldn't help it. He wasn't to blame. The nurses  _naturally_ liked him due to his affable nature. His excuses inevitably fell on deaf ears.

As Beth busied herself with setting up breakfast, Hawkeye remained conspicuously silent.

Mustang tried to convince himself the unnerved feeling in his gut was from the purling sound of coffee as it splashed into a waiting cup.

-o-o-o-

Red eyes flashed. She screamed in despair and slammed her fist into the shabby transistor radio, opening a gash on her scarred hand. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Blood dripped quietly from her knuckles.

The official announcement just came in from Central. The bastard still lived. What was worse, he was a damn hero. Again.

_That murderous fraud._  Her chest filled with rage.  _He always eludes the justice he deserves. He has never atoned for his sins._

She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing down the anger that threatened to overwhelm her. Gradually, she regained control over her fury. It would not do to lose herself now. She refused to wallow in her own hopelessness. Perhaps… perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.

A slow, wicked smile spread across her face.

Yes. She would be the one to do it. He would know her pain. She would destroy those closest to him. Then, when he had suffered as she suffered, he would feel her wrath.

_Vengeance, Mustang. At last._

The room was silent but for the soft splash of blood against the earthen floor.

 


	3. Toll

**Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any related characters.**

**Toll ( / tōl / )**

**1. _noun_  - the sound of a bell rung slowly at regular intervals**

**2. _noun -_ loss or damage incurred through an accident or disaster**

**3. _noun -_ value measured by what must be given or undergone to obtain something**

-o-o-o-

"Your move, Colonel."

Rain pattered against the hospital window. A chill draft leeched through the sill. Shivering, Mustang sighed. "Sir, this can't be fair. Surely you have better things to do than beat a blind man at chess."

Grumman chuckled. "What could be more pressing than a friendly game?"

Roy remained silent, his face a mask of studious nonchalance. Meanwhile, his thoughts bordered on sardonic.  _More pressing?_  he mused.  _Perhaps more the more pressing task would be tending to a country that just underwent a violent coup?_  Grumman was a man known for his eccentricities, but surely even he knew how fragile the political landscape would be over the next few months. Though the government retained a semblance of its military structure, Central remained in disarray. It was the perfect opportunity to sow the seeds of democracy. Yet here Grumman sat, seemingly unperturbed by the near-certainty of much-needed sedition.

However, a game of chess was never just an idle pastime for Grumman; Mustang suspected the General-turned-Fuhrer-elect had an ulterior motive for his visit.

 _The old man intends to use me. But to what end?_ Mustang thought. Gurmman always had some plan brewing - some scheme to keep his star ever-rising - and at least four contingency plans as backup. But the man was solicitous with his secrets, ever careful not to let too many people know too much. If Grumman wanted Mustang to know what those plans were, it would say so in good time. For now, it was better to play along. "Knight to G7. How goes the transition?"

Grumman tsked reprovingly as he moved Mustang's piece. "Smoother than we could have hoped for. I imagine things will be settled within the week. It helps that I have the endorsement of the former first lady." Though the two officers were alone, Grumman's voice lowered conspiratorially. "That radio stunt of yours was well-played."

Mustang shrugged, playing at nonchalance. "We had to control the flow of information." He heard a soft thump as Grumman moved his own chess piece. "It kept citizens out of the line of fire and relatively safe."

"Hmmm. I've never heard 'safe' and 'ignorant' interchanged like that."

"I prefer 'blissfully unaware,' sir."

Grumman cackled. "Indeed. Queen to D2." Mustang heard a wooden creak as the soon-to-be Fuhrer leaned back in his chair.

Mustang had to admit he was somewhat grateful for this distraction. Four days in a hospital bed left him stir-crazy and hungry for fresh news. His subordinates did their best to keep him well-informed, but Mustang knew too many things occurred behind closed doors. Roy desperately needed to get back into the game; right now he felt like he was playing a giant chess match, three moves behind an unseen opponent. He had busied himself in as many ways as he could, but his room felt like a stagnant prison in the wake of the frienzied past few weeks. His roommate wasn't exactly known for her lively conversation, either.

_Speaking of Queens…_

"Any issues with Armstrong?"

"Surprisingly no." A hint of exhaustion crept into Grumman's voice. "I suspect she knows that the… misinformation that circulated during the conflict would not aid her climb to the top."

"You mean the intel leaked to the Central soldiers during the battle." The leaders at Headquarters quickly identified General Armstrong as one of the coup leaders; Central soldiers were ordered to attack Armstrong as soon as she infiltrated the capitol. Unfortunately, the very same broadcasts incriminated Mustang as well. Though the reports did not reach the public at large, they remained an annowing flaw on his military record where seeds of doubt might take root.

Not for the first time, Mustang cursed Grumman's notable absence during the conflict. The General's hands-off approach assured his own reputation remained pristine.  _And Armstrong and I took out all his competition in the process. We could not have have made it easier for the old man if we hand-delivered the throne to his home._  Mustang had to admit Grumman knew how to play a beautiful game.

Unable to help himself, Roy probed further. "What about casualties?"

Grumman made a sound like he was trying to get gristle out of his teeth. "More than I'd like. The current count remains at 173, with about the same number injured. Nothing compared to Ishval, but even one life lost is too much for me. A high price to pay."

Mustang nodded. Silence stretched between the two soldiers.

"Your move, colonel." Grumman prompted.

The colonel threw up his hands helplessly. "Honestly, sir, I can't remember where I put any of my pieces."

"Such a shame. You were doing quite well." He began to collect the pieces and carefully place them into the chessboard's compartment. "I hear you've been doing some reading." Grumman continued conversationally.

"Yes." Mustang kept his tone even. Gumman was probably well aware that Breda and Feury recently checked out every existing text on Ishval from the military library. The books were piled conspicuously in the corner of the room.

"It seems to me that there is a new opening for major general at Eastern Headquarters. Such a high-ranking officer would be in an excellent position to lead the reconstruction efforts in Ishval."

"Is that so, Sir?" Mustang smirked. "It seems to  _me_  my previous commanding officer referred to Eastern Headquarters as a 'dead end' position."

Grumman laughed. "He was mistaken. In fact, someone from Eastern just so happens to be in position to become the new Fuhrer. Perhaps that trend will continue when it comes time to find his successor."

Mustang pursed his lips thoughtfully. "And the military's policy on blind officers?"

"Don't oversell yourself, Roy. That lieutenant of yours does most of your paperwork. She is exceptional at forging your signature, by the way."

"I'll pass along the compliment."

Grumman changed topics smoothly, although his voice took on a serious edge. "I heard that Tim Marcoh visited you earlier today. Rumor has it that he is in possession of a Philosopher's stone."

 _Only a few days as interim leader, and he already has eyes and ears everywhere. This man is indeed formidable. Wonder who talked?_  "Yes."

"And?"

The colonel turned his sightless eyes towards the window. "I'm waiting to use it on someone that deserves it more than I do. After the stone heals him, I'll ask Marcoh to restore my vision."

"I see. Well…" Grumman clapped the two halves of the chessboard together and stood. "It's all settled, then!" He paused at the door. "I'm planning to have a little – ah – private celebration at my home next week. I hope you and some of your subordinates might join us."

"Thank you, sir."

"Until then, Mustang."

Roy kept his expression neutral until he heard the door click shut behind the Grumman. Once he knew he was alone, he allowed himself a thoughtful frown. There was much to do - much to consider - before he felt ready to move forward. He only hoped he was ready.

Outside, the lunch bell pealed sonorously through sheets of falling rain.

-o-o-o-

Ashika ducked into the alleyway, its dank walls pressing close on either side. She was late; she heard the noon bell toll several minutes ago. Thick drops of rain dripped from the eaves, soaking through the thin fabric of her hood. The streets here were empty - most of the Ishvalans who lived in this area had already made their way below ground for noon prayers. The deserted streets offered some much-needed privacy; it would not do well for her to be seen here. Ashika's head swung back and forth, searching.

 _There it is_. Sick anticipation curled in her gut. The sign she sought was but a simple slash of red paint, messily sloshed against the wall of what could best be described as a shack. An uninformed observer could easily overlook such a simple smudge, but any Ishvalan would quickly recognize it as an entryway to a temple. Such things were necessary to practice a religion that marked one as seperate, lesser.

Ashika quickly slipped under the ruined roof. In the dim light, she could just make out an opening at the rear of the dwelling. It led to a cool passageway that steeply pitched down under the streets.

The few remaining Ishvalans kept their religion alive, but secret. While practicing was not neccesarily illegal, it was certainly not welcome. Amestrians were not subtle in their dislike of Ishvalan refugees and they certainly were not discouraged from making their dislike known. Too many temples burned in the years following the Civil War; most Ishvalans learned it was dangerous to perform prayers in public at an early age. The safest way to worship was to keep their faith hidden. Ishval was a religion born of sand and sacrifice, and despite adversity it continued to thrive. It would not be easily squelched under the booted heels of Amestrian soldiers.

Ashika stole quietly into the rear of the temple. The Cleric stood at the altar at the opposite end of the room, his arms lifted toward what should be they naked sky. Worshipers knelt in rows, offering soft prayers to Ishvala. Nearby, the Sounder slowly tolled the worship bell. She could see rags peaking from the bottom of the instrument; it was important to keep the sound muffled to prevent people outside from overhearing the secret ceremony.

She quickly identified her target. The man sat cross-legged at the back of the congregation, head bowed in prayer. Ashika knelt silently next to him.

"Late." He murmured, lips barely moving.

Ashika did not reply as she tugged her hood further over her face. Times like these made her grateful Ishvalan women covered their heads during worship. She carefully reached into her robe and withdrew a small package. "Your payment."

The male Ishvalan's head bowed incrementally as his fingers took hold of the money.

She did not let go. "Give me what I asked for."

He scowled. His eyes darted into the recesses of her cowl, then widened in surprise. "So the rumors about you are true."

Ashika fought the urge to duck away. She was weary of staring eyes and gaping mouths.

"Information." The word was a command.

The male Ishvalan tore his eyes away from her face. His voice was soft and urgent. "Mustang is admitted to the main military hospital, room 412. Guards accompany him at all times, as does the Hawk's Eye. He is due to be discharged tomorrow. Lieutenant Hawkeye is to be discharged in two days." He tugged at the package experimentally, but Ashika gripped it tightly, refusing to let go.

"That is all you offer?" She struggled to keep her voice below a whisper while still injecting menace. "I asked for  _everything. All_  comings and goings."

The man growled. "I was getting to that. He's had the usual cadre to his room. Lieutenant Breda and Sergeant Fuery, along with every book on Ishval the Central Library has to offer. Also two doctors - Knox and Marcoh. You may recognize their names from the war."

She sneered. Yes, she remembered them, though their names did not burn in her breast that way Mustang's did. "So, the  _war hero_  intends to make his triumphant return to Ishval." She felt the tang of bile on her tongue. "Anyone else?"

"Only one nurse tends to both the Lieutenant and Colonel: A woman called Beth Jacobs. I am also told Lieutenant Havoc is due to return soon. Why… I do not know."

Ashika held the money for a moment longer before releasing it. "Speak of this to no one. My appearance isn't the only rumor that rings true about me." She rose smoothly.

"You aren't staying for prayers?" His tone was a mocking rebuke.

Her steely voice betrayed no trace of regret. "I no longer deserve to stand in Ishvala's presence."

As Ashika made her way back to the surface, she heard the muted sounds of the worship bell reverberate off the walls of the tunnel. They seemed to hound her, rousting her from the peaceful haven.

It was true. She did not belong in such a blessed place.

-o-o-o-

"Fullmetal." Hawkeye called.

"Lieutenant!" The young man's face lit up. "You're looking better. Here, let me help you…" He reached out for her IV pole.

"Better not," she warned. "This thing is keeping me upright more than I'd care to admit."

"Oh." Ed gave her an appraising look, his striking eyes clear and calculating. "Should you even be out of bed?" He fell in stride beside her as she made her slow way down the hospital corridor.

Hawkeye shrugged. The action tugged painfully on her neck. "I needed to stretch my legs."  _And get out of that damn room for a bit_ , she added internally _._  It was difficult to rest with Breda and Feury in the room. They drilled Mustang on the nuances of Ishvalan culture and commerce almost constantly for the past two days. The nursing staff had to veritably force the two men out last night. Riza was grateful when Grumman ousted the pair of them before lunch today; she took the opportunity to duck out of the room while she had the chance.

"How is Al?" She asked.

"I think he might be trying to catch up on the sleep he missed over all these years." Ed grinned happily. "He's taking another nap."

"Will you boys be heading home soon?"

Ed shook his head. "Al needs time to get his strength back. We won't even leave the hospital for a couple weeks. The doctors said we have to wait… they're worried about something called refeeding syndrome."

Riza smiled sympathetically at the young man. She wasn't sure when it happened, but Ed had matured since she last saw him. He seemed so young when she first met him. Just a kid that carried a terrible burden and a huge chip on his shoulder. Now he stood with confidence. It leant to his height. Somewhat.

She glanced at his right arm. "How does it feel to have it back?"

Ed gripped his shoulder and did some experimental circles with the atrophied limb. "Can't complain!" The cheery smile spread.

Hawkeye could not help but smile back. The earnestness and joy on his face was infectious.

Ed paused, as if suddenly remembering something. His smile slipped, and his eyes drifted away from her. His next words seemed to come with some effort. "How is the Colonel?" he asked guardedly. The young man would never admit as much, but Mustang earned a great deal of the boy's begrudging respect over the past few days.

"He's well. The doctors say his hands should recover with few limitations to their movement." She briefly recalled the relief she felt upon hearing the news. To lose his vision was one thing, but to lose dexterity in his hands… It was a death sentence for an alchemist. She frowned at the thought.

Ed must have been watching her face, because his smile slowly disappeared. His head bowed. "Al and I… we talked about his eyes. To get his sight back… We can't… The toll is too…"

"Don't, Edward. Just stop there. What happened is not your fault." Riza placed a comforting hand on Ed's shoulder. "You boys always take too much on yourselves. Colonel Mustang chose to be there that day. As did I."

Ed squeezed his eyes shut, nodding. Riza sighed. Ed was incapable of feeling any emotion halfway. His heart was always on his sleeve, plain as day. In some ways she envied his immodesty. Propriaty was essential for her work, but there were times when she wished she could have the freedom to show how she felt. She swallowed as the memory of a dark room and starched sheets entered her mind.  _The colonel. Ed would want to know_. Riza hesitated for a moment, deliberating whether she should share their plan for the Philosopher's stone. Mustang and Knox had agreed that it would be best to keep Marcoh's involvement – and his possession of the stone – secret for as long as possible.

 _However_ , Riza mused,  _Fullmetal will know exactly 'how' and 'who' the instant he learns the Colonel got his vision back_. Once word spread, it would be impossible to prevent the young prodigy from learning the truth. It was unfair to hide it from him - not when he knew full well the required components of a true stone. She exhaled sharply though her nostrils.  _He deserves to know this from us now, not secondhand and after the fact._

"Ed." Riza caught his gaze. "The Colonel's vision loss… it may not be permanent."

"What do you…?" Ed's intelligent eyes searched her face. Comprehension dawned only a moment later. "He means to use a…?" Ed's mouth tightened into a firm line. "He can't. He wouldn't."

Riza remained expressionless. She knew how Ed felt about the Philosopher's stone. He refused to use one only a few days before, even though it meant sacrificing his alchemy for his brother's body in lieu. If there was one thing Hawkeye admired about the boy, it was that Ed valued human life above all else. That much became clear the night he faced Envy in the forest. She remembered his reluctance to take her gun.  _A weapon for killing people_ , he called it. And she used it with barely a thought.

"Is he in his room?" Ed's words came out carefully measured, but Hawkeye knew the boy well enough to see the simmering beginnings of anger.

"I'm headed there myself. Join me?" Ed nodded, and they made their way down the corridor, Riza shuffling in her slippers. "It's just there." She nodded to the door. An Amestrian soldier stood just outside.

Ed glaced at her from the corner of his eye. "What's with the guard?"

"A precaution," she reassured.  _Mostly to make sure the Colonel stays out of trouble while I'm away._  The soldier held the door for her, saluting briefly as she entered.

Colonel Mustang stood at the window. His fingers gripped the sill. Rays of afternoon sun peaked through the slowly dissipating rain clouds. The light framed his mussed hair and glinted off a few loose strands, casting them in warm gold. He seemed to be lost in thought.

Hawkeye shut the door behind Ed. "Colonel, I - " she began. Roy whipped around to face her.

"Where have you been, Hawkeye? You said you'd be gone for a few minutes. It's been  _two hours_."

"Sir, I - "

"You know I'm going insane pent up like this. And you leave me  _alone_?"

"Well, you - "

"Grumman had a lot of  _interesting_  things to say. Once Havoc gets back we - "

" _Sir_ ," her fervent tone finally stopped his tirade. "We have a visitor."

Roy froze.

Ed's voice held a hint of amusement. "Hello Colonel."

"Fullmetal." Mustang deadpanned.

"Good guess."

Riza sighed as she wearily leaned against the IV pole. The two alchemists seemed to take delight in their senseless spats, but Mustang didn't like being caught off guard. The Colonel would have a few choice words for her the moment Ed left.

"I apologize for not welcoming you right away," Mustang said caustically. "I've been having this problem with my eyes lately."

"About that, Colonel" Ed said seriously.

Riza shook her head.  _Impetuous as always. The boy doesn't waste time thinking before he speaks._

"Colonel, do you intend to use a Philosopher's stone?"

Mustang gaped for a moment, then frowned. His blank eyes swung in Riza's direction.  _Perhaps he will have more than a few choice words for me_ , Riza amended.

"What would give you that idea, Fullmetal?" Mustang hedged.

"Your Lieutenant might have mentioned something."

Roy's eyes narrowed at Riza disapprovingly. Though they blindly aimed just over her shoulder, they were no less disconcerting. Hawkeye enjoyed the colonel's absolute trust, but she was not beyond his reproach.

"I imagine you'll use Marcoh's stone?" Ed accused. Not waiting for an answer, he nodded to himself. "They were  _Ishvalans_ , Colonel.  _People_. Their lives were stolen by Amestrian alchemists. Do you really want to be a part of that cycle of pain?"

Hawkeye's heart sunk as she watched the colonel visibly flinch. "Ed…" Riza warned.

"I'm aware of the price of a Philosopher's stone, Fullmetal," Mustang grated. They both knew what it meant to use its power: forged with Ishvalan souls, unwillingly taken. "As terrible as it is, their lives cannot be restored. I want to honor their sacrifice and make amends." His voice was resolute. "But I'm no good to Ishval  _or_  Amestris while blind." The colonol paused, considering his words. "Besides," he entreated, his voice softer. "It's not just for me, kid. I want Havoc to have his legs back."

Ed deliberated for a long moment, his brow furrowed. "I don't approve of this, colonel." The boy did not say as much, but Hawkeye could detect a underlying "but" in his words. Indeed, the boy's stance had changed: from one of charged tension to reluctant assent.

Mustang's eyebrow twitched. "Since when do  _I_  need  _your_  approval?"

"Since you turned into a blind invalid!"

"Invalid? All I need to do is clap, you stunted punk…"

Riza sighed with relief. The petty squabble was a good sign.  _Crisis averted_ , she thought as she shuffled her way to her bed.

Golden eyes followed Hawkeye as she climbed under the sheets. Ed's jaw dropped. "Wha-? Lieutenant, you didn't tell me this is your room, too." His head whipped between the two adults. A blush blossomed on his cheeks and his voice climbed an octave. "Isn't there some kind of military policy against these things?"

Ed's flustered tone was just the leverage Mustang needed. His face relaxed into a smirk. "This is a hospital, Fullmetal. What on Earth do you think we're  _doing_  in here?" He paused for a moment to make sure he enjoyed the full effect of his next statement. "Thinking of enjoying some time with a lady yourself? Perhaps with a certain automail mechanic?"

Ed sputtered incoherently.

Mustang turned to his Lieutenant. "Hawkeye, please tell me his nose is bleeding."

Riza studiously ignored the request, instead opting to pick up a nearby book on Ishvalan dual cropping techniques. She rifled through it idly. In truth, there  _was_  a strict military policy against co-ed bunking. High-ranking officers could override the rule in emergency situations. Or in Mustang's case, when one knew which strings to pull. A few whispered words to a couple hospital officials ensured that the two of them remained together rather than separated by several floors. In truth, Riza was grateful; she could not imagine what the first night would have been like if she spent it with a stranger.

It seemed that Ed didn't have the energy to put up an offensive front today. "I should go," he growled. He turned to Riza. "It was nice seeing  _you_ , Lieutenant."

"Fullmetal." Mustang's voice stopped the young man at the door. The boy stiffened, his posture bent defensively, hands clasped into fists. "…Say hello to your brother for me."

Ed's face softened. "Sure."

Mustang turned toward Hawkeye the instant the door clicked shut. She only just managed to avoid flinching under the heat of his empty stare.

"Mind explaining, Lieutenant?"

"He deserves to know, Sir." Her voice lost its clipped tone. She slumped tonelessly in the bed. "After all those boys have been through, they deserve to know."

The colonel sighed. Shuffling forward cautiously, he groped for the edge of the bed. Riza immediately threw back her sheets to get up and help him.

"No. I can manage."

"Sir, until you get your sight back, you may need help with some things."

"I can make it to my bed just fine."

She leaned back reluctantly. She hated seeing him helpless like this. He was such a stubborn man. He was already terrorizing the nurses with his persistent need for self-reliance. It did not bode well for his willingness to accept assistance once he left the hospital. Worse, she had the sinking feeling he felt his blindness was a punishment he deserved - justice for all the pain he caused. Equivalent exchange. Any bruise he suffered from his blind stumbles was a well-deserved reminder of his past follies.

After a full two minutes of agonizing struggle, Roy's hand finally met the mattress. He grinned at her triumphantly. "Ha!"

"You mentioned Grumman earlier, Sir?"

"Yes." He sat on the edge of the bed, turning his torso toward the sound of her voice. "As I predicted, he's sending me back East. I'm to head the preliminary development of infrastructure in Ishval, and establish peaceful relations with their leadership. "

"You don't sound happy about it."

He sighed. "Don't get me wrong. I am. It's just a little too… convenient. Grumman needs me out of the way while he establishes control. I think he perceives me as a threat."

Knowing the Colonel couldn't see, Riza indulged in a proud smile.  _Of course you're a threat_ ,  _Colonel. You're a war hero and vigilante-protector of Central. You're charming. You have boundless charisma. You're intelligent, capable. You're twice the man Grumman is._

"Still," the Colonel continued, shrugging. "I can't turn this opportunity down. I need to do this, Riza. As recompense for all I've done." He swung his legs up onto the bed.

"You have my support, Sir."

Mustang smiled. "Somehow I knew I wouldn't have to ask."

"You never will."

Mustang's eyes fixed on her, sightless and intense. Riza couldn't interpret the expression on his face, but she felt heat blossom in her stomach. A dull ache pressed on her chest, pooling there, threatening to crush her under its weight. Her heart stirred and fluttered in a strange, syncopated rhythm.

Roy's expression turned distant, thoughtful. "Do you think I should use it? The Philosopher's stone?"

"Yes."

"Just like that? Not even a pause?"

"Like you said, sir, you're far more useful with your sight intact."  _And I need you back. You're vulnerable now_ _. ..._ _I'm afraid for you._

"Are you calling me useless, Lieutenant?"

"Of course not, sir. You are quite capable of locating your bed without assistance. Well done."

Mustang chuckled. "He offered to make me his successor, you know. Grumman."

"Offered?"

"Well… implied. I have the feeling he implied the very same thing to Olivier."

Riza frowned.  _Grumman is definitely an improvement from the previous head of state, but he is not interested in democracy_ , she mused. _Nothing will change during his rule as Fuhrer. If Armstrong were to succeed him, she would preserve and maintain the military government. What price must we pay to give power back to the people of Amestris - to finally have democracy? What will it take to get the Colonel to the top?_

She looked at the man in the bed next to hers. She believed in him. She would fight for him.

Whatever the cost.


End file.
